I grew up in the late sixties, seventies and eighties. In that childhood I thought things were pretty normal. My dad would get drunk, throw up, yell and my siblings and I were subjected to various measures of discipline. Looking at that 'discipline' now I realize how bizzare it actually was. Looking back at his behavior and that of my mother, I also see just how bizzare my family truly was. I had no comparison though so this was normal.

It was normal for Daddy to get drunk and tear around the neighborhood, carrying a knife trying to kill the barking dog. The dog that was compounding the headache of his hangover. I saw the bruises on my mother but I never connected the dots then either. That didn't come until much later. I thought it was 'normal' to scrub our wooden floors with an old toothbrush. 'Normal' to be lined up for spankings with his favorite device, a belt or the miserable bamboo stick. I remember the stains on my shorts and dresses, those green stains.